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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28701057">The Flying Feathered F****r OR The Globe Theatre Story</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LTRisBACK/pseuds/LTRisBACK'>LTRisBACK</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Five times Crowley tried to propose, and one time... [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley has plans, Epic Fail, Marriage Proposal, No. 4, Other, Proposal attempt, Seagulls - Freeform, So does the universe, proposal fail</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:49:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28701057</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LTRisBACK/pseuds/LTRisBACK</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley was getting desperate.  For attempt number four, he aligns with an anniversary and pulls out all the stops.  This time, this time nothing could possibly stand in his way.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Five times Crowley tried to propose, and one time... [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Flying Feathered F****r OR The Globe Theatre Story</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Poor Crowley.  Things just keep not going his way.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley growled in frustration, running his hands through his hair as he tried to think.  Three attempts, three failures.  He needed to think, there must be another place that meant a lot to them and their relationship that he could use!  They’d existed around each other for six millenia, surely he hadn’t used up the possibilities of London already.  </p><p>He ran through places in his mind, but so many of them didn’t exist any more.  Then it came to him and he felt his face stretch in a triumphant grin.  The humans had rebuilt this one in a very close approximation of what had been there in the first place; he grabbed his phone and started typing quickly.  He checked dates and grinned wider; that made the whole thing even better!</p><p>Crowley smiled as he ushered Aziraphale out to the Bentley, ignoring all questions as to their destination.  “I told you, it’s a surprise.  Trust me, you’ll like it,” Crowley shut the car door on Aziraphale’s objections and circled the car to the driver’s seat.  He felt the large round lump in his inner coat pocket, a miracle both keeping it from creating a visible lump and from leaking on his jacket. </p><p>Crowley drove into London and wound his way through the streets, taking a far more circuitous route than was actually required in order to park in a location close to their destination but which concealed it from view.  He then turned to Aziraphale and, with a snap, produced a silk scarf. </p><p>“Really, Crowley?” Aziraphale grumped at him but submitted to having the cloth secured over his eyes.  He didn’t point out that he was an ethereal being with a multitude of eyes at his disposal; he focused instead on not utilising those other eyes, to honour the spirit of Crowley’s wish.  Crowley helped him out of the Bentley, ensured he was steady on his feet, and they set off.  They walked up several cobbled streets, and Aziraphale was beginning to think he knew where they were.  There was a scent in the air from a cafe he was sure he recognised but he allowed Crowley to draw him onwards, an arm wrapped around the small of his back to both stead and guide him.  </p><p>“Here we are,” Crowley finally said and Aziraphale bounced slightly on his toes, finding himself exceptionally high spirited.  The level of theatricality that Crowley was going to had worked its magic, leaving the angel jittering and excited.  He turned his head from side to side, taking in the sounds around them.  There was quite the crowd, he now realised, and Crowley must be doing quite the job to keep them from being constantly brushed against.  “Alright, love, you can take it off now,” Crowley whispered in his ear, and Aziraphale raised his hands and slid the soft silk off his face.  He blinked in the light, then quickly took in their surroundings.  </p><p>He gasped with delight and Crowley grinned.  “Crowley!  Hamlet at the Globe?  You shouldn’t have!”  </p><p>“Ngk, eeeh, well...you know, I wanted to do something special for today,” he shrugged and Aziraphale frowned slightly.  </p><p>“Today?  What’s today?” the angel looked around again, clearly seeking a clue but he wouldn’t find any out there.  </p><p>“Happy Arrangement Anniversary,” Crowley whispered in his ear, and Aziraphale’s eyes grew impossibly wide. </p><p>“Oh.  Crowley,” the softness in his tone and his eyes when he turned towards him had Crowley coughing and trying to come up with something to distract the angel.  </p><p>“Yeeah, well, it’s not that big a thing, I just wanted to do something to commemorate it,” Crowley shrugged, glancing away.  “Come on, if we’re gonna get to stand in a good spot we need to get a move on,” he took the two groundling tickets out of his pocket and showed them to the human on the gate, then guided Aziraphale into the building. </p><p>“I know I say it every time we come, but they did a pretty good job rebuilding this place, didn’t they?  It’s almost the way it was back then.  Just wonderful.”  </p><p>Crowley smiled and nodded along to Aziraphale’s usual rhapsodising about the Globe.  The angel hadn’t been at all convinced when he heard that the humans planned to rebuild the famous theatre, but it had grown on him over time.  </p><p>They found a spot on the ground that may or may not have been exactly where Aziraphale had chosen to stand four hundred odd years ago, one that gave an excellent vantage point but was out of the ‘splash zone’.  Neither of them cared suffer the spittle of the actors, or to maintain miracles to keep it away.   </p><p>Aziraphale stood and fidgeted excitedly, eyes wide with delight as he took in the scene.  He wished Will could see the crowd here, how popular this play had become.  The playwright had not ended his life well, and Aziraphale wished he could have known how famous he would be, regardless of how seriously people took his satirical romance.  After Will’s death, Aziraphale had only seen one or two productions that interpreted Romeo and Juliet the way it was meant to be.  </p><p>Crowley and Aziraphale made light conversation about the many Shakespeare plays they had enjoyed together, or separately.  They argued over who had been the best Hamlet (Richard Burbage did not make either of their top five) and which of the ‘funny ones’ was the best.  Finally, the space was filled, the lights on the stage came on and the play began.  </p><p>Crowley watched Aziraphale at least as much as the performance, struck once again by how much he felt for his angel.  Oh, he did love his angel so much.  He felt the lump in his pocket once again and slipped a hand in as the first act ended and the rush to get drinks and visit the facilities began.  Neither of them moved, not having any need for the facilities and more likely to miracle over some of the refreshments rather than stand in the ridiculous queues.  </p><p>Crowley slipped the orange out of his pocket and held it up in front of his angel’s face, watching as he lit up.  </p><p>“Oh, Crowley, you remembered!”  For all Aziraphale may have chosen grapes the first time they watched Hamlet together, oranges had always been his treat of choice.  Crowley carefully lifted the peel that he’d already cut back and extended the orange towards Aziraphale.  </p><p>The angel reached out to take the orange and Crowley felt a surge of hope and pride only for it to be snatched away, both literally and figuratively.  The opportunistic seagull raced away from them, the orange speared on its beak, and Crowley bellowed in thwarted rage.  </p><p>“Come back here, you, you...flying feathered FUCKER!” Crowley’s frustration boiled over and he shrieked, but Aziraphale grabbed his hands and stopped him from utilising any miracles to summon the orange back.  The angel had the unmitigated gall to laugh as he trapped Crowley’s hands within his own.  </p><p>“Now, now, darling, it’s only an orange,” Aziraphale said soothingly, and Crowley swallowed back what he really wanted to say.  </p><p> </p><p>“Your orange.  That manky flying feather duster had NO RIGHT to it.”  Crowley tried to contain his panic as he considered the ring that had just flown away.  He needed to get it back; how was he going to find it again?  He tried again to follow in the direction the bird had flown but Aziraphale held him back.  </p><p>“Well, it’s not like I want it back now, my dear,” the angel pointed out reasonably, and Crowley winced internally but managed to control his facial expression.  The bell rang and the audience began to return around them, hemming him in even as he buzzed to be moving.  He needed that ring back; he couldn’t just get another one!  It had taken long enough to choose one and it had been one of a kind.  Also, considering he had obtained it about eight centuries ago there was no way that anyone could make one like it today.  </p><p>Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist, clearly sensing his distress.  “Really, my dear, it’s just an orange.  Relax, let’s enjoy the play, you can take me for something to eat afterwards.  We can always stay at the shop tonight, it’s not like we have to go back to the cottage if we don’t feel like it.”  </p><p>Crowley sighed but nodded and did his best to pay proper attention to the rest of the play.  It was a very good production, with a truly excellent Hamlet.  This actor may just make his list of best Hamlets.  The play actually did manage to more or less take his mind off what had happened, at least until it was over.  Then it hit him again; he had failed yet again to actually ask Aziraphale to marry him.  Oh, he wanted to believe that of course Aziraphale would but without asking the question he would never know.  He couldn’t ask the question wherever; it needed the right circumstances!  He’d created those four times now and four times something had gone wrong.  He was sure he’d had it right this time, but no.  Apparently the universe itself was out to thwart him, never mind him thwarting himself.  </p><p>As the audience thinned, Crowley and Aziraphale went with the flow, Crowley looking all around as though he might actually find the stupid feathered thief but of course there was no sign.  </p><p>Aziraphale watched him with concern; he’d seen Crowley become obsessed like this before but it normally took more than a simple food theft.  Deciding that providing more food might just be the cure, Aziraphale urged Crowley towards his favourite late-night establishment in the area and soon they were sitting down with plates of good food spread in front of them.  Crowley was still sulking, but the food did seem to lift his spirits at least a little.  </p><p>Crowley meanwhile was trying not to worry his angel, even as he wracked his brain over what to do.  How on earth did one track down a single seagull in the city of London?  It was a ludicrous suggestion; it wasn’t like it was a Tower raven.  He was becoming more and more convinced that there was no getting it back, and he sank down in his chair and threw back his entire glass of wine.  </p><p>“Oh, my dear, I know you wanted us to have the perfect anniversary evening,” Aziraphale smiled encouragingly.  “But a little thing like that going wrong actually makes it better, don’t you see?  It’s not so bad, Crowley.  Very bold little seagull, though.  I didn’t even know they liked oranges!”  </p><p>“Nah, I always thought they were all about chips, myself,” Crowley agreed, pushing himself up to sit straighter and reminding himself that he didn’t want to ruin the rest of Aziraphale’s evening, even if his own was spoilt.  He began to eat a little more and saw Aziraphale smile at him, clearly sure he was feeling better.  The food was good; Mexican food after a night at the theatre was always a sure thing.  </p><p>Crowley kept mentally going through options; he could come back after installing Aziraphale at the bookshop and hunt around, but that wouldn’t work because he was the one who slept, not the angel.  Well he could slip out in the morning or get the angel so engrossed in one of his books he wouldn’t notice him leaving, perhaps?  Say he was going to get pastries (he would actually do that, of course) and then spend some time hunting down the little wretch?  But that led back to the issue of how, exactly, he was supposed to find one feathery fiend amongst thousands.  He might be able to track it as a snake, he thought, but then he remembered the last time he’d decided to go traipsing around London as a snake.  Getting caught by animal control was not as much fun as it sounded.  </p><p>He continued thinking the whole way back to the Bentley and the entire trip to the shop.  Aziraphale opened the door with a happy sigh and Crowley smiled to see his angel so happy.   A snap of his fingers brought the lights on, both in the shop and in Crowley’s head.  He could do miracles, which meant he could just get the ring back as soon as he was alone.  In much the same way that Aziraphale could have any book in his collection appear wherever he wanted it.  </p><p>Crowley watched as Aziraphale began to potter around the shop, unable to resist the allure of his books after a period away, and knew that he would be taking yet more stacks of them in the back of the car when they returned to their cottage.  Smiling slightly at his angel, Crowley slipped into the backroom and, with a final glance to ensure that Aziraphale was occupied, he snapped holding his left hand out flat in front of himself while picturing the result he wanted.  </p><p>He almost got it.  Almost, in this case, meaning that the ring did appear on his hand but it did so sunk into a lump of seagull bile that stank to high heaven.  He gagged and quickly snapped again, clearing the mess away and leaving the ring.  Although the mess was gone he quickly crossed to the sink and, setting the ring carefully aside, began to compulsively scrub his hands.  </p><p>Finally, Crowley decided his hands were probably as clean as they were going to get.  He felt like he could still smell the stench, but that was one of the curses of his snake anatomy - tasting a smell meant that it lingered for a long time.  </p><p>Making his way out into the shop, he sank down on the sofa, the ring feeling like an enormous weight on his chest.  Should he just pull it out and ask?  He watched Aziraphale putter around the shop and thought about it but ultimately couldn’t bring himself to do it.  Aziraphale deserved better, deserved more romance than the two of them sitting on his ratty sofa in the shop.  His mind made up, Crowley snapped his fingers.  A bottle of wine from the cellar popped into being on the table with two glasses and he carefully poured.  It was a good vintage, and if nothing else it would take the taste of seagull bile off his tongue.  </p><p>Aziraphale settled onto the sofa next to him as if summoned and accepted a glass.  “To us?” the angel smiled at Crowley, eyes warm.  Crolwey’s heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest with that expression focussed on him, and he raised his glass in return. </p><p>“To us,” Crowley beamed at his angel, eyes not straying as he took a slow sip.  He set his glass aside after a moment, leaning forward and touching their foreheads together lightly.  Aziraphale pushed into the touch, a hand coming up to stroke the back of Crowley’s head, fingers tangling in his hair.  Crowley wrapped both arms around his angel, drawing him against his body, and settled in for a long snuggle session.  It may not have been how the night was meant to go but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been good.  Aziraphale shifted slightly to tuck himself more firmly into Crowley’s side, continuing to play with the demon’s hair.  Crowley pushed away all thoughts of his next attempt and instead focussed on enjoying the closeness here and now.  This moment, right here, was perfect.</p>
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